**Light in the Night**
Emily was lost in deep sleep when a sharp knock shattered the silence. The sound cut through the night like a blade.
“Good grief, who on earth is here at this hour?” she muttered, rolling over. But the knocking didn’t stop—it only grew more urgent.
“What do you want?” Emily snapped, throwing off the covers. She grabbed her worn dressing gown and peered through the peephole. Outside stood a frail old woman, clutching a massive ginger cat to her chest.
“Who’s there?” Emily demanded, her hand on the latch. She wasn’t about to open up—she’d heard too many horror stories. But then the old woman groaned, and through the peephole, Emily watched as she slumped against the wall. The cat wriggled free and darted around her feet, meowing desperately.
“Why me?” Emily sighed, unlocking the door.
“Are you all right, love? Stay with me—I’ll call an ambulance!” She hooked an arm under the woman’s shoulders and guided her to the sofa. Once she had her settled, Emily rushed for the phone.
The cat perched nearby, golden eyes fixed on her with eerie intensity.
“The ambulance is coming,” Emily said gently. “What’s your name?”
“Margaret Williams,” the old woman rasped. “My papers… in my bag.” She gestured weakly behind her.
Emily carefully unzipped the battered handbag and pulled out a well-worn passport.
“Sweetheart, I can’t go to hospital,” Margaret whispered. “My grandson’s waiting—I’ve got his rent money. If I don’t bring it, he’ll throw me out… and my cat—what’ll happen to him?”
“The doctors will decide,” Emily said firmly. “I’ll look after your cat—don’t worry. But why are *you* bringing *him* money? Shouldn’t it be the other way round?”
“Oh, don’t ask, love… best you don’t know.”
Another knock—the paramedics arrived. They examined Margaret swiftly before turning to Emily.
“We’re taking her to St. Mary’s,” one said. “Bring toiletries and a change of clothes tomorrow.”
“I’m not going!” Margaret insisted, but her voice wavered.
“You must,” Emily said softly. “I’ll visit tomorrow. Your cat will be fine—I adore them.”
The next morning, Emily woke with the usual thought: *Why do I always get dragged into messes?* But then she remembered Margaret’s kind eyes and smiled. *Maybe we’ll be friends.*
Emily had grown up in chaos. Her parents, lost to drink, barely noticed her. The only warmth in her childhood came from elderly neighbours—some patted her head, others slipped her biscuits. When she was thirteen, her parents died from bad spirits, and old Mrs. Whitmore became her lifeline. Thanks to her, the children’s home wasn’t so lonely. But at sixteen, Mrs. Whitmore passed too. Since then, Emily had been alone.
Now twenty-three, she was tough and self-reliant. The care system had hardened her, taught her to fight. So when she decided to confront Margaret’s grandson, fear wasn’t an option. She’d memorised the address from Margaret’s passport.
The house stood in an ageing part of Meadowbrook, on Oak Lane. Two elderly women sat on a bench outside, and within minutes, Emily knew the whole story.
Margaret had lived here her entire life, raising her grandson after her daughter and son-in-law died in a crash. The boy was five when he was orphaned. But by eighteen, he’d fallen in with a rough crowd. Now he forced Margaret to beg, threatening her cat if she didn’t bring cash. He’d rented out his parents’ flat but leeched off her—*warmer and cheaper here.* The police wouldn’t intervene—*family matter.*
Emily’s blood boiled. She stormed up the stairs and hammered on the door. A bleary-eyed lad answered, reeking of last night’s lager.
“You vile little worm!” She advanced like a storm. “How *dare* you treat her like that? Pack your rubbish and clear out—got it?”
The lad blinked, stunned, then nodded.
“Touch her again—I’ll ruin you,” Emily hissed. “And don’t test me.”
“Who the hell are you?” he slurred.
“Doesn’t matter. Cross me, and the cops will find something *interesting* in your pockets.”
Fifteen minutes later, he slunk away with a holdall. Emily set about tidying Margaret’s flat. She had just enough time to visit the hospital and grab cat food.
At St. Mary’s, Margaret brightened at the sight of her. Emily unpacked groceries.
“For you. And don’t fret—your cat’s fed. Oh, and I kicked your grandson out. No arguments—no one treats their gran like that.”
“Thank you, love,” Margaret whispered, eyes glistening. “I thought I’d die alone… who’d care for an old bird like me?”
*I do. And your cat.*
A week later, Emily brought Margaret home. The old woman gasped.
“It’s spotless! How can I ever repay you?”
“You don’t have to,” Emily said. “Can I call you Gran?”
Margaret’s eyes filled. “Oh, my dear girl… what would I do without you?”
The cat purred on the sofa—fed, pampered, and finally safe from cruel boots.
A year passed. Emily loved Margaret like family. Only the grandson soured things, turning up with threats. So they hatched a plan: Emily would move in, renting out her tiny flat. She insisted Margaret keep the money.
“Gran, I’m living here rent-free—I won’t take a penny more.”
When the grandson died in a pub brawl, they grieved—but also breathed easier.
Two years later, Emily met Alex, a new GP at the clinic. His kindness with Margaret melted her heart—he tailored her care so well, she seemed to bloom. For the first time, Emily fell in love.
“Don’t let him slip away,” Margaret urged. “Good men like that are rare.”
When Alex proposed, Emily wept with joy. A year later, she became a mother—and Margaret, a beaming great-grandmother.
They had twelve more years together. Margaret passed peacefully at ninety-five, sharp as a tack till the end. Emily sobbed, shattered. Only Alex and the kids kept her standing. The old cat had long gone, replaced by a stray she’d rescued.
A month later, Emily had to move out—the house was Margaret’s, and she’d refused to take it as a gift, despite the old woman’s pleas.
Sorting paperwork, Emily found a letter.
*My darling girl, you gave me more joy than I ever dreamed. Without you, I’d have been lost. Take what’s in the sideboard—under the drawers. You’ve earned it.*
Emily burst into tears. Margaret had called her *granddaughter* for years, but seeing it written broke her.
“What’s wrong?” Alex asked.
Wordlessly, she handed him the letter. He tugged out the sideboard drawers—inside lay the deed to the house and a bundle of cash.
*The deed’s been yours for years—no arguing. The money’s from your flat’s rent. Use it wisely, love.*
Emily and Alex built a life full of love, laughter, and generations of family. And in every stray cat they took in, a little of Margaret’s spirit lived on.